If He Only Knew
by lollyg17
Summary: One-shot. What would happen if Peter began to ridicule Edmund and make him feel worthless? When tragedy strikes Peter is left wondering what would have happened if only he had known how his brother truly felt. Rated for character death and self-harm.


**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.**

If He Only Knew

Edmund Pevensie was not in a good mood, but enjoyable times came much less often now. His older brother, Peter, was hovering over his bed, cursing at Edmund for being lazy and worthless. But Edmund didn't care anymore; this happened every morning.

It was summer, so every morning Ed would have to force himself to wake up as his older brother practically screamed at him for no reason. Unfortunately, his solitude of school was gone and Peter would frequently degrade him throughout the day as well. If his sisters noticed their brother's cruel behavior they didn't say anything, but Edmund would not have realized anyway. He rarely talked anymore, keeping all thoughts to himself. He had become paler than normal and skinnier than his already thin frame had been, and he wore hoodies even during the summer.

But did his family notice? Probably not. Edmund could not shake the voices in his head telling him he was worthless, a piece of trash, not fit to be a king.

A king. Oh how Edmund wished to be back in Narnia, maybe then he would feel as if he were worth something. Anything. Anything but a waste of space. But even then he would be in his brother's shadow; his brother, the High King of Narnia: Peter the Magnificent. How right that title was. Peter was everything Edmund was not: brave, strong, loyal. He was stunning, a true king with his golden blonde hair blowing in the breeze and a brilliant sword raised to the heavens as he charged into battle. Edmund was a traitor, a traitor who had sold himself and the rest of Narnia for sweets. What right did he have to be a king? What right did he have to even be alive?

As Peter had finally gone from the room Edmund reluctantly left the solitude of his bed, the only warmth in his life he had left, and grabbed a small object from under is pillow. As Edmund's feet hit the cold tile floor of the bathroom he felt his body shiver and reach to lock the door behind him. If his family knew they would be ashamed, but Edmund needed a way to numb the pain.

The object was small and very sharp, the tip of the very sword that High King Peter, himself, had wielded during his reign as King. It had broken off whilst Edmund had used it to fend off a giant serpent during his last trip to Narnia with his sister, Lucy, and his cousin, Eustace. When Peter had found out he was furious.

Edmund smiled at the sword tip, placing it upon his wrist where other recent scars were scabbing over; he was no longer afraid of the menacing things it had brought to him. In fact, he had quite gotten used to its presence. Chuckling, he gently dragged it across his wrist, relishing in the faint sting from the cool stream of blood that rand down his arm. If only his family knew what he was doing to himself. Would they cry and beg him to stop? No, they would probably cast him out of the house, telling him that he is a disgrace and deserves to die.

He let a single tear fall.

Edmund trudged up the park hill, following his sisters and feeling Peter's glaring eyes upon him, judging him and saying how wretched he was. Edmund sighed, feeling the ever-present dread wash over him. He knew he was unwanted here as his family prepared for a picnic, but he wished Peter would stop trying to remind him. He sighed once more.

"Quit sighing, it makes you sound more stupid than usual." Peter whispered into his ear, making Edmund jump, and then scowl at himself for being such a pussy. "You need to quit scowling, too, it's not very becoming on your pale face. If you don't stop you're going to end up like the White Witch, you already have the traitor part down."

Tears pricked his eyes. He knew it! He knew Peter still thought he was a traitor! How could he not have known? Of course Peter had every right to hate him, after all, Edmund had always made Peter's life miserable. What was one more thing?

"Now what, you're crying? You are such a baby!" Peter's mocking voice rang out, making Ed's eardrums want to explode.

"Peter!" Mrs. Pevensie yelled out, horrified at her oldest son. Peter didn't take his eyes off his brother.

Finally, Edmund broke. Tears began falling like a waterfall, making his face red and blotchy. He was sick of this. Sick of his brother. Sick of his family. Sick of everyone thinking that he was worthless.

He turned and began to run. He didn't know where, just knowing that he had to get away from everything that was wrong with his life. He ignored the calling from his family behind him, because they didn't really care. No one did.

As Edmund ran through the front door of his house and into his room he sought the one thing that would bring him joy: the sword tip. Quickly, he dove for his pillow case and grabbed the small object from beneath it before dashing to the bathroom. He slammed the door with a _thud _and ripped off the hoodie that he had worn to conceal his marks. He didn't care anymore.

Edmund dragged his knife across his skin, digging deep and watching the dark red liquid pour from within him. It felt so good, better than before. He started pushing it harder, digging deeper and deeper into his skin. Black spots started clouding his vision, but it no longer mattered to him. He had to do this, to make himself feel better.

Edmund was vaguely aware of a pool of blood around his feet. His arms were completely covered in blood so that no white of his skin was visible, and it was soaking through his socks. Finally, Edmund put the blade down. He was becoming dizzy and increasingly weak. He sat down on the floor, suddenly too tired to stand, not caring that he was now soaking himself in his own blood.

It was getting hard to breathe, each breath becoming more and more painful. Was he choking? Choking on his own blood? He hoped his family would see him soon, see him so that they knew what had become of their youngest son. What they had driven him to. Perhaps he would even see some sort of concern from them, some sort of sorrow or remorse. But Edmund wouldn't hold his breath.

As Edmund's breathing got shallower and shallower, his vision began to fade. He could faintly hear someone screaming and see a blurry figure above him. Reaching for him. The last thing he saw was a flash of blonde hair.

"What in the world were you thinking?" Mrs. Pevensie yelled at Peter. He was going to go after Edmund who had just taken off, but was stopped by his mother and two sisters. "Peter, listen, you and Edmund have been fighting a lot recently, and I think you should go apologize."

Peter shook his head forcefully, but couldn't help the guilt that was plaguing him.

Peter walked in the front door of the Pevensie house with the rest of the family trailing behind. The picnic had been cancelled, so his mother was setting up lunch in the kitchen as Peter went up the stairs to him and Ed's shared room. Noticing their bathroom door was locked, Peter knocked loudly, "Hey Ed, can you hurry up? I'd like to use the loo sometime today." There was no answer and Peter cursed under his breath, "Dammit Ed, hurry up!"

Frustrated, Peter grabbed the spare from his parents' room and stuffed it into the lock.

"I'm going to kill you Ed," he growled.

As Peter opened the door he was met with the biggest shock of his life, bigger than going to Narnia for the first time or the time their house was bombed. It was a nightmare that Peter would never want to relive, something he could never imagine on his own. It was so horrible that Peter screamed.

"Peter, what-"Mrs. Pevensie began, but was cut off by her own scream of horror at the grotesque sight. On the floor of the bathroom was her youngest son, laying in a pool of blood that came from the deep gashes on his wrists. His eyes were only half-open and the smell coming from the bathroom was so intoxicating that Peter had to cover his mouth.

"Susan, call the hospital! Quick!" Peter heard his mother scream as he rushed over to his little brother. His little brother who was so deathly pale and sickly thin. It wasn't until Peter rubbed his eyes did he realize that he was crying and have to sit down, feeling dizzy.

He could faintly hear the ambulance outside, the doctors who had come to save his little brother. They were coming in the house, ordering Peter to get off of Edmund and let them handle it, but he couldn't. Edmund was _his _brother and _he _would save him. He had hold on his brother's wrists and the doctors were yelling at him. _You're hurting him!_ Is that what they said?

Peter looked down, his first movement in more than ten minutes; Edmund's wrists were slashed. Not just slashed, but gouged with chunks of skin just hanging off of his wrist. Peter's heart broke, and even more scars appeared to be on his little brother's wrists, meaning this had been going on for a while.

As the doctors began taking Edmund out of the house, Peter saw something fall from his hands. Picking it up before anyone saw him, Peter put the object in his pocket without looking to see what it was and followed behind the ambulance.

Peter's face was expressionless as he waited with his mother and other two siblings in the hospital waiting room. Next to him, Lucy was gripping his shirt and bawling, whilst Susan and his mother had faces so red and tear-stained that no one would be able to recognize them. Peter was doing no better; he could not get rid of the guilt that was plaguing him nor the fear and sorrow haunting every part of his mind. What was going to happen to Edmund? He can't die, not his little brother! They had been through so much together, and Peter's life would never be the same again without him.

A doctor came out, "Mrs. Pevensie?" She stood up, almost falling before composing herself and following the doctor down the hall.

The eldest Pevensie child's heart pounded as the doctor relayed the news to their mother, and Peter could feel something within himself drop. The conversation seemed to take ages as every child waited to hear the news from their mother about their brother. She seemed to have even more tears than before streaming down her face than before she had left, "He didn't make it."

When the Pevensies had finally returned home Peter ran to his room. _His _room. He knew he was alone now. The room felt empty without Edmund.

Finally, after staring at the wall for several minutes, he walked over to his brother's old bed. It wasn't until Peter felt something poking him did he remember that he had found something of Edmunds and put it in his pocket. Reaching into the side of his trousers, Peter pulled out a sharp object, his Narnian sword tip.

It was tarnished and the edges were caked with blood. Peter let more tears slip, as he had been doing all day since the tragic suicide of his baby brother. His insides were queasy as he slid his most prized possession around with his fingers; his most prized possession that had slain many others to bring great joy to him and his people, but in the end slain his brother and brought the thought of death down upon his family. They would never be the same, and Peter would have to face the truth.

He couldn't help it now, the tears were flowing freely down his face once more. It was his fault Edmund killed himself. If Peter had not acted like a jerk out of jealousy for his brother's return to Narnia, Edmund would still be alive.

Peter sniffed and laid down on Ed's bed. The bed that would remain empty forever.

Perhaps if Peter had known what he was doing to Edmund he would have stopped. Perhaps his little brother would still be alive. That day Peter decided to start acting like the brother that Edmund had always wanted, always needed. And he kept his promise. But sometimes he still wondered what would have happened if he only knew.


End file.
